65 Roses
by AnnieXMuller
Summary: December 24th, and a homicide is keeping Beckett from Castle. Ellie Jensen is dying, stuck in hospital on Christmas Eve, and she's terrified. The story of how lives intersect, of loss, and of hope. At Christmas.


She can't breathe. She equates the feeling to rubber bands snapping around her lungs, restricting each breath, and squeezing tighter. Behind eyes closed tight from pain, she visualizes the room, summons the calm, forces each breath. White walls, covered with pictures and words of hope, hers the only bed in the room.

Alone, because she is dying.

Fifteen percent lung capacity was nothing, she couldn't even sit up or shift position without gasping, but oh what she wouldn't give to be there still.

She hears whispers, a susurrus of voices around her, and the words filter into her drug-addled brain. Her doctor, her mother, and a conversation she wishes she had slept through. She wishes she could sleep…

_"She needs a miracle tonight."_

_"I know."_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"Thank you."_

A miracle. She knows what that means; she's been here before. She needs someone else to pass on so that she can keep on living.  
She needs a stroke, a heart attack, she needs someone in the ICU to take their last breath.  
Because she needs lungs. Or to wake up tomorrow morning having never been born with the genetic condition that robbed her of her own lungs, the one robbing her of her life. Both options seem just as impossible now.

She does not wish death on someone. No, their time will come. But before her own?

It's Christmas Eve.

She needs a miracle.

* * *

Work keeps Beckett from Castle's warm loft - his warm arms - on a white and cold December 24th. She's miserable; eyes downcast, lips set in a firm line, she keeps a tenuous grip on Detective Beckett. Just beneath her cool exterior she's Kate, and she's missing him. So stinking much. It tugs at her heart, and makes her ache inside. It makes her want to leave the boys to it, and it's tempting… She shakes it off, focuses her attention on the words leaving Lanie's lips, the sentence she missed the start of.  
Shoving her gloved hands deep into her pockets, she shivers involuntarily at the scene on the ground before her. One woman is dead, her body rigid, the snow around her red, no longer pristine. Lanie kneeling like it isn't cold, doing her job, focused.

Kate shifts her attention to the wailing of a siren, growing fainter as it speeds off. The other woman - the lone witness - is in the back of the ambulance, on her way to a hospital that she might never see. They don't expect her to last the night.

It's just over an hour from Christmas, and Kate sees little joy around her.

Prelim exam done, the body bagged, Lanie strips off her gloves and touches a bare hand to Beckett's arm. "The boys have got this," she tells Kate solemnly. "Go home."

Kate shakes her head at her friend. "No." She can't be selfish, not tonight. Kevin, Espo, they both deserve to be with their loved ones just as much as she does. So she'll stick it out, get it done.

She will do her job, as she always does, and that job, right now, is to get to the hospital.

* * *

Hope fades fast. There is little joy here.

IV. Feeding tube. Oxygen. Wires and tubes. Meds, meds, meds. The cocktail of drugs being pumped into her offer little relief from the pain, or from her exhaustion. It all threatens to overwhelm her, makes her feel weaker than she is. She is already weak enough to need to receive a bilateral transplant, but that's not the problem - she's been at that stage for four months now. To be strong enough to survive the surgery and the difficult recovery? She has almost lost hope. She knows her survival hangs in these next few days; she knows by next week her lung function won't be enough to keep her alive if it keeps dropping at its current steady rate. She just needs to hold on but… It's almost too much now. Her body needs to rest but she's scared to sleep, scared if she gives into her exhaustion her lungs will see their chance - and give up. If she's awake, if she's aware, she will keep breathing. She will keep forcing the air in and out of her dying lungs, and she will continue on.

No, she mustn't sleep.

* * *

Beckett bursts through the doors, Esposito and Ryan in tow, out of one white environment and into another.

_At least_, she thinks, _it's warmer in here._

Minimal decorations adorn the interior, a lone garland around a computer monitor the only indication it's Christmas Eve. In the hospital it's just another evening, with just another day to follow.  
It helps. Somehow. While Esposito demands information on where the witness was taken, Beckett surveys the room and blocks out thoughts of what she is missing.  
A woman is dead. Another is dying. Castle will still be there when the night is over.

They walk silently through the corridors, the labyrinth of blood, and pain, and death.

_And life_, she reminds herself. _And healing and hope._

But right now, as they walk the halls, the heels of three pairs of shoes echoing around them, there is no news. There is no knowing what state their witness is in. Alive? Already deceased?

They are blocked from entering the area where the team works on the one person who could provide the answers, and help solve the murder; they are blocked from the information they need most tonight.

So Beckett paces. Tired, and antsy, she walks a few paces down the hall, pulls out her phone, stares at the display, resists the need to phone Castle, shoves it back in her pocket, walks back down the hall.

She needs a distraction. Something to help pass the time. She can barely keep her eyes open. Could she slip away for a coffee?

She looks up at the guys, and they're just as bone-weary as she is. "Coffee?"

They nod, grateful for the caffeine boost, promising to call her should there be news.

It's strange to her, waiting at the hospital on Christmas Eve, pacing the halls, surrounded by nervous energy. It feels personal. It feels like a friend is behind those doors. Because it's Christmas, perhaps, and everyone needs to feel like someone gives a damn about them.

Except…She just needs a witness.

And it feels just as cold to her as it sounded in her head.

* * *

Lucidity is a blessing, as fleeting as it may be. She opens her eyes, not from sleep but from that in between place she fights to stay in, and her room is empty again, but her door is open. Her mom isn't here, probably not far away, but she panics a little.

And she can't afford to panic. She can't breathe when she panics. She can barely breathe when she's calm.

She's twenty five, but she feels like a child. A little girl who needs her mom. She's dying - and she needs her mom.

Her nose hurts; they changed her mask a few hours ago, to give her nasal passages a rest, but she feels it. The phantom feeling of the cannula haunts her still. Her lips are dry, cracked. She doesn't look in mirrors anymore. She knows how she looks. Blue-tinged skin, sunken cheeks, dark circles beneath scared eyes. Death is not pretty.

Her eyes focus on the scenes out in the corridor, and she keeps watch, waiting for her mom to return, to hold her hand and tell her it's going to be alright. Because it will be… Won't it? It has to be…

Her eyes strain, blurred by the lights, her sinus headache, and the drugs.

A familiar figure walks slowly past. Long brunette curls flecked with gold, dark pants and a red coat.

"Mom?" The word leaves her lips quickly, too loud; she says it before realizing that's not her mom, and she feels stupid. Stupid and dying. _That's Ellie Jensen, everyone_, she thinks sadly to herself. _Couldn't even keep new lungs in her body for a full three years before they started to reject her. Stupid._

And so here she is again back on the transplant list thanks to Chronic Rejection, which began just four months prior - and refused to let go of its iron grip on her. She is steadily running out of time. Dying, again. Like always.

The figure in the corridor stops. The woman who resembles her mom lifts her eyes from the cellphone screen, and meets hers.

"Sorry," Ellie apologizes, her voice muffled by the mask.

The woman smiles kindly. "That's okay," she says from the door. She glances down the corridor before looking back. "Would you like me to find your mom?"

"No, she'll return, she's probably gone for more coffee." She knows her voice is shaking, but she can't help it. She knows she sounds like a lost, little girl. But, damn it, she's terrified.

The woman glances down the corridor once more, briefly at the phone in her hands, and then meets her eyes again. "Can I come in?"

Ellie nods. "I'm not contagious," she replies. "I'm dying, but you won't catch it." She chuckles mirthlessly at herself from behind the oxygen mask.

"You look like you need some company." She extends a hand as she moves to stand beside the bed. "I'm Detective Beckett, but you can call me Kate."

Ellie smiles. "Ellie. Nice to meet you, Kate." She lightly grips the woman's strong hand, wishing she had such strength.

Kate glances around, and pulls up a chair, the one her mom usually sits in. "I'm here for work," she explains as she settles beside the bed. "I work homicide."

"Someone died?" Ellie asks, the sadness in her voice not from her own condition in this moment.

Kate nods. "And our witness is fighting for their life."

"So you're waiting too."

Kate tilts her head slightly. "I'm waiting for the woman to wake up. What are you waiting for, Ellie?"

_To die_. The words echo through her mind. _To die. To die. To die._ She holds them back. "For new lungs. Mine are failing."

* * *

Kate Beckett's problems suddenly feel insignificant, even more so than they did at the crime scene. She feels selfish. How dare she want to rush through this night so she can curl up in Castle's bed, wake up with him on Christmas morning, when Ellie is stuck in a hospital bed on Christmas Eve, currently alone. Wishing - hoping - for a second chance.

She sees Ellie yawn behind the mask. "It's late, I should let you sleep."

Ellie shakes her head just slightly. "I don't sleep," she replies simply.

Kate raises an eyebrow. "Never?"

"Not much, anyway."

"Your mom is here late. Visiting hours are over, aren't they?"

"Visiting hours don't count when you're in my condition."

Beckett's phone buzzes before Ellie can elaborate, and she glances down at the screen to read the message from Ryan.

_Witness didn't make it. Heading home. Go to Castle._

No 'Merry Christmas'. Not when two women have lost their lives. Such words will be exchanged tomorrow.

She glances up at the wide, frightened eyes of the frail girl in the bed. Castle will wait. She curls her legs up under her on the small chair, and smiles. "I'll stay with you until your mom comes back, sweetie."

"What if your witness wakes up?"

Kate shakes her head sadly. "She won't. She didn't make it."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

A comfortable silence fills the room. Ellie's eyes remain fixed outside the door, and Kate glances around at the Get Well Soon and Thinking of You cards that are stuck to the walls. Crayon drawings of roses from children, paintings of roses from talented artists, and every degree of talent in between, seemingly hundreds of pictures, fill the spaces between the cards. She does a count, taking them all in. Sixty five. She assumes roses are Ellie's favorite. There's quite a display of love surrounding Ellie, and her heart clenches in her chest as she becomes aware just how loved this girl is. But there are no animals, no childish trinkets.

_Not girl. Woman_, she corrects herself, guessing she is older than she appears right now.

Ellie, having followed Kate's gaze, meets her eyes, and shrugs. "I have Cystic Fibrosis."

And then she tells her story, slowly, needing to pause between every couple of words to inhale a forced breath.

Time passes. Kate doesn't know how long, doesn't keep track, but it's long enough to understand everything this girl has gone through. Her entire life. Relentless coughing, so bad she would vomit several times a day, never being able to catch her breath, digestive problems, feeding tubes, IVs and antibiotics, sinus headaches, and a double-lung transplant almost three years ago. Now, rejection.

"Do you have a story, Detective Beckett?"

"Not like yours, not even close."

"Tell me anyway?"

So she does. She tells her story until a woman enters the room, dressed not unlike herself, her curious, damp eyes meeting Beckett's.

"Mom," Ellie says happily, her eyes lighting up.

Kate stands, extends her hand. "I'm- Kate." She catches herself before she says 'Detective'. "I was keeping your daughter company."

* * *

"I got scared," Ellie tells her mom softly. God, she sounds pathetic to her own ears, she can't imagine how she sounds to the Detective keeping her company. She turns back to Kate, and smiles behind the mask. "Thank you, for telling me your story."

Kate smiles back at her. "Thank you for sharing yours."

Her mom takes her hand, forces her look up. She's smiling. Why is her mom smiling? Her team of doctors enter the room in a flurry of activity, and her heart pounds in her chest.

"You're getting lungs, Ellie," her mom tells her, her voice faltering, barely containing her emotions. "They're going to prep you now."

Eyes wide, disbelieving, Ellie inhales as much air as her damaged lungs will accept. "Now?" She asks, shock filling her, overflowing until tears roll down her cheeks.

"Now."

* * *

Kate slips quietly out of the room. She pulls her phone from her pocket, calls Castle.

"I'm on my way," she tells him and even through the phone she can hear the relief draining from him. It's almost midnight, but it's still Christmas Eve.

She drives the quiet streets, pulls up outside his building. The elevator ride feels longer, seems endless.

He is waiting at his door for her, and she falls easily into his embrace. She wraps her arms around him, her body flush with his, buries her nose in his shoulder, and inhales. She breathes him in, takes a deep breath and holds it, and the day begins to melt away.

But as she exhales there's something she just can't shake.

"You okay?" He murmurs against her hair.

She is reluctant to step out of his embrace, and she knows he is sensing it. "Long day," she replies softly, her lips brushing his jaw.

"Come on." He pulls back, takes her hand, and tugs her gently into the warm loft, closing the door behind them. He leads her towards his bedroom, but she pauses just before his office, tugging at his hand so he stops also.

She lingers in front of the large Christmas tree, the lights still burning, the baubles twinkling as the light hits them. "I think I witnessed a true Christmas miracle tonight," she says softly.

He wraps his strong arms around her from behind, and draws her body back to his. "At the crime scene?" He asks, confused.

His warm breath tickles her cheek, and she sinks back against him. "No," she replies sadly. "The witness died, but… I think another life was saved because of that." Castle turns her in his arms, and she doesn't even try to hide the tears.

He kisses away a tear, catching it with his lips as it trails down her cheek. His lips find hers, and she tastes her mix of heartache and hope on him. She smiles as they separate.

"Tell me about this miracle," he says.

She waits until they are in bed, safe under the covers, wrapped up in one anothers arms, before she shares Ellie's story - and the unusual timing of the donor lungs.

* * *

**AN: cffdotorg / aboutCFFoundation / About65Roses /**

**For Eva Markvoort. Your wall of love inspired Ellie's. Your life inspires me still. Three years on and you are missed terribly. **


End file.
